


freefall

by itisjosh



Series: restart [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: "waves" - chloe moriondo, Constellations, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Gen, Gods, Lowercase, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Rain, Sky Gods - Freeform, Songfic, Sort Of, Thunderstorms, for the aesthetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28291599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh
Summary: two gods sit in the sky
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot
Series: restart [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999678
Comments: 14
Kudos: 93





	freefall

the stars sing of home and of life and of memories, and their lullabies sounds like schlatt. wilbur still hates it, he still hates being reminded of the river god constantly, but he hates it less. he hates schlatt less. he hates less, wishes he loved more. wilbur walks in the sky, looking under himself. he smiles gently as he stares at the earth below him, watching as it spins on its axis, too slow for most other gods to pick up on. the moon and sun god, whoever they used to be, were able to see it move. the god of the stars, his counterpart, she was always able to watch. wilbur misses her, though he doesn't remember her name. he remembers very little about the people he used to call friends and family. 

schlatt is the only clear memory, and wilbur doesn't know how he's supposed to feel about that. 

he reaches out, cupping a star in the palm of his hand. he watches as it flickers, buzzing softly against his hands. wilbur turns down to face the earth once more, a sly grin working its way onto his face. he grips the star a little tighter before he hurls it across the sky, watching as its light fades the farther away it gets from him. wilbur knows the human tales of shooting stars - he used to believe in them himself, back before he was older and less naïve. but it gives them hope. it gives them hope of a better future, it lets them hope that something may finally go right. 

wilbur likes hope. he remembers that concept very well, he remembers that concept being shattered in front of him. hope is a concept that he fell in love with, and it was brutally ripped from his grasp, no matter how hard he tried to hold on. wilbur admires humanity for that, for their constant tug of war with life. how most of them never give up hope, how a lot of them will fight until they die, just because they don't want to say that the world is corrupt and evil. wilbur sees the concept in the boy named tommy, the one who he called his brother. wilbur sees a lot of concepts in the humans he spent time with.

tommy is the physical form of hope and morality and strength and friendship. phil is life and death and creation and the moon and the sun and peace and love. techno is war and hurt and bitterness and joy and laughter and fondness. tubbo is nature and mortality and wisdom and kindness and bargaining. 

they are all concepts, and they're the concepts that wilbur fell in love with when humanity was first created. the concept of friendship is the hardest one to hold onto, he thinks. somehow, the concept of hope and the concept of nature always manage. wilbur could reach out and touch their minds, he could see into the future to see if they last. but he already knows, wilbur doesn't need to see the end of the world to know that tommy and tubbo will live and die together. 

and when they die, wilbur will wait for them at the gates of hell and suffering and he will drag them out with his own two hands. he will bring phil and techno out with him, and the god of death will not be able to stop him.

because the god of the skies has never known when to stop. 

wilbur looks over his shoulder when the nauseating smell of salt and home and sea fills his lungs, smiling at his old friend. his new friend. "schlatt," wilbur greets, reaching out to grab another star. "i was wondering if you decided against coming."

"what is _with_ you?" schlatt sounds genuinely disgusted, and wilbur straightens his position. of course, he couldn't- "i'm not coming, wilbur. god, that's just.." schlatt meets his eyes with the biggest grin wilbur has ever seen, and of course, it's contagious. "i'm not coming." wilbur tilts his head back, barking out a laugh that he can't quite subdue in time. 

"i'll make you come," wilbur threatens, pressing a finger against schlatt's chest. "if you're not going to come on your own, i'll make you."

"don't you _dare_ make me come," schlatt narrows his eyes, but that coy grin is still there, and that's all wilbur needs to know. he throws out his arms, grinning when he hears the faint rumble of thunder, hearing the pitter-patter of rain. the sky is his playground, he can do whatever he wants. "rain, wilbur? you tryna make me feel at home or something?" 

wilbur rolls his eyes, shoving a star towards his friend. "so what if i am? i know what it feels like to be away from home." schlatt's eyes get softer at that, although wilbur had meant it literally. 

"i get that, yeah," schlatt murmurs, tilting his head up to face the onslaught of rain. "it's pretty. i like it. i like this place. is this the sky humans see?"

"sort of," wilbur smiles, swaying gently on his feet to the sound of the sky's music. the stars buzz and whisper soft things to him, though he can't understand what they're saying. the god of the stars, she always used to translate for him. they were close. wilbur misses her. "i can hide this place," he murmurs, feeling the rain soak his hair. "i can make this a secret."

"two teenagers, sneaking out to their secret little hideaway," schlatt tells him, sounding wistful and nostalgic. the words strike wilbur right in the chest, and he faintly remembers a time, when he was much younger, where he had said those exact words. "you were nineteen."

"and you were sixteen," wilbur smiles. "age is obsolete now, river god. we're ancient and old and fragile."

"not fragile," schlatt corrects. "weathered." 

"stop quoting me," wilbur grins, holding out his hands again. thunder rumbles in his palms, little storm clouds floating around his fingers. "this is home," wilbur closes his eyes, listening to the music and the rain. he smells sea salt and rain on grass. he smells fresh morning air, the way the air tasted in the middle of autumn. "this is home." he repeats, a little louder. he has to say it, he has to. 

he knows schlatt is thinking the same. 

"it is," his friend, his enemy, his partner, his soulmate, his antagonist, his foil, says. "this is home." 

they stand silently in the rain for centuries, for a millenium, until wilbur speaks up, "are you glad? that you came." schlatt looks at him, a mischievous spark in his eyes. he opens his mouth, certainly for a witty comeback, but he snaps his jaw shut a second later. 

"yeah," he confirms. "i am." 

wilbur smiles, leaning back to stare up at the higher part of his home.

"so am i," he murmurs. "so am i."


End file.
